““Are you all right, boys?” gasped Fenton Hardy. Three voices reassured him. Frank lay on his flashlight, and when he pulled it free, the beam still shone. Joe’s light had been buried somewhere in the debris. “Whew!” Chet gulped as he struggled upright. “Feels like I just got creamed by a whole football line!” “Let’s get out of here,” Mr. Hardy said. Shaking the dust from their clothes, the four clambered back up to level ground. Frank turned and shone his beam down into the ravine, the bottom o...f which was heaped with rubble. “That fellow you saw, Joe—what did he look like?” “I hardly had time to see his face at all,” Joe replied, “but two things I did notice were—a red beard and a black cloak!” Chet groaned. “The Jolly Roger ghost again!” “I doubt if ghosts are capable of planting explosives,” Mr. Hardy said dryly. “It was probably the same person who hit me.” “Think we should try to hunt him down, Dad?” asked Frank, aiming his flashlight beam toward the brush-covered hillside left of the ravine.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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